


Portrait

by Kissy



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, mood piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 21:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: When all that remains of love, lost forever, is a fading portrait. One-shot.





	Portrait

The _Bahamut _loomed low in the sky. Tomorrow they would fly the _Strahl_ to the _Bahamut _to meet with their destiny, for better of for worse. His friends…they were coping with the idea that they might die tomorrow, with varying stages of success. He supposed that their successes could be measured by how easily they fell asleep tonight.

It was nearly midnight, now, and everyone had ultimately fallen asleep. He could not, for the very life of him. Oh, not because he was afraid to die in battle. He couldn't sleep because he was tormented by his yesterdays. His mind was awash with failures and loss long past. His greatest failure sat personified on the opposite side of the fire. She saw him as a traitor, and the murderer of her father. In a way he was, even if he did not deal the killing blow. It was his fault, all his fault…

He turned the small gilt object in his scarred hands over and read the inscription on the back. Scratched there were three words written in loopy, flowing Rozarrian: _I love you. _He tutted under his breath and pondered throwing the small trinket into the fire, and shuddered minutely when he came within an ace of doing so. His fingers closed around the miniature convulsively. _The last of what I have of her, _he thought. _It'd be foolish to throw this away so carelessly…_

"Captain."

He started, and blinked slowly at the princess. His gaze dropped to his miniature. "You startled me, Lady Ashe."

It was her turn to drop her gaze. "My apologies. I was merely looking for conversation, but you seem preoccupied…"

"Don't apologize. Sit. I was readying to go to sleep, but you are welcome to sit for a spell." He motioned to his cloak – the one he used when the cold Paramina winds tore at them. "Make yourself comfortable."

She did so. She primly sat, her legs folded beneath her, and steepled her hands in her lap. Her gaze didn't stray from them. Usually the steadiest of their company, Basch began to fidget slightly. He cleared his throat. "Erm…my Lady? Is there anything…"

"I miss Rasler." A bolt from the blue, but not a great surprise. "I…it has been two years since his death, and yet the pain of loss has not abated." She shivered, and extricated the cloak from underneath her legs. She donned it, and marveled in its warmth, and did not notice the tears well in her eyes until they spilled over her lashes. Basch hesitated, and then took one of her hands and patted it. He was a servant of the princess, after all – and even if it made him slightly uncomfortable to dole out condolence to a woman who once hated him…well, he would just have to deal with it. He patiently waited for her sobs to abate, and when they did, he released her shaking hand and offered her his handkerchief.

Ashe dabbed at her still-streaming eyes and sniffled a thank-you to Basch, who merely shrugged. "It was nothing, my Lady, but…I must ask something, and please don't take offense. Why did you come to talk to _me_ about this?"

She noted his strangely intent expression, and shrugged uncomfortably. "I cannot bring myself to speak of this to anyone else, and – well…"

"I am a neutral party that will never judge or chastise," finished Basch, smiling wanly. "Even if it was necessary, I don't think I could even bring myself to do so."

Ashe glanced at him sidelong before dropping her hands back into her lap. She played with the now-messy handkerchief. "Precisely. I…" She could not finish, not without injuring his feelings. She still did not trust Basch very much, even if he was not the treasonous murderer everyone (including herself, once) thought him to be. He tried his level best to keep her and their companions from harm, but still…

He nudged her hands open, and a small object dropped into her waiting palm. She brought it up to the fire-light, and turned it just so, so that the light shone directly upon the tiny painting.

It was a marvel unto itself, this miniature portrait. The precision it must have taken to craft it rivaled even the most talented artisans in Rozarria. And surely enough – she turned the portrait over, and on the back, carved into the gilt were three words written in Rozarrian…her grasp of the language was slight, but she could have sworn it said 'my heart's blood'. Intrigued, she turned the trinket over and gazed into the eyes of the most remarkable woman she had ever seen.

The unnamed woman had a wealth of black hair that wound around her shoulders and down her back, a shade shared by most Rozarrians; her eyes however, were not. They were of deepest cobalt, and widely set on her fair face. Her smile crinkled at the corners and dimpled her heart-shaped face. She wasn't beautiful, not really, but striking. Ashe gazed upon the Rozarrian woman's face for a few moments longer, and looked up at Basch…and blinked. His expression was stony, but underneath that was horror and pain. It was deeply rooted, and it made him look old. She gazed at the portrait once more and understood. "Basch…what happened?"

His eyebrows drew together distractedly. "She died." His voice thickened so minutely that she would not have heard it, if not for the heavy silence that surrounded them. "Six years ago, during the Great Plague."

Ashe quieted a moment. _Perhaps Basch _was _the right person to talk to_, she thought, and dismissed the voice as quickly as it had popped into her head. It was a cold and cruel thought…and it would be wrong to drop the weight of her dilemma on his shoulders right now. She offered the miniature to Basch, who took it back wordlessly. After many silent moments, Ashe cleared her throat. "What was your woman's name?"

His mouth was set in a grim line. "Lynn. And she was my wife."

_His…wife? _Ashe's face softened a bit in commiseration. "I'm sorry for you. She was beautiful."

And then Ashe witnessed the most astounding transformation on Basch's face. He did not burst into tears, nor did he clamp down on his emotions and shut out everything around him (which, lately, _always_ happened to Ashe). His face darkened further until it resembled a thundercloud. His hands curled into fists and squeezed so hard that the wooden frame of the miniature creaked. He looked down at it, and bared his teeth at in a mirthless grimace. He opened his mouth to speak, and Ashe was shocked and frightened by his unmitigated choler. He hissed at Ashe under his breath – as angry as he was, he still retained enough of his mind not to wake their comrades.

"Yes, she was. Inside and out. She was my friend, and my lover, and my very soul…and before you ask again – no, the pain _never_ goes away."

She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. She didn't expect that. "Surely…after six years the pain of loss has softened…"

For the first time that evening, he looked her full on, and chuffed out choked, incredulous laughter. "Softened? I hated her for so long after her death!"

Ashe moved closer, and uncomfortably touched his shoulder. "Why was there hate? Why did you hate her so if you loved her more than anything?"

Basch quickly rose to his feet, and slowly paced the fire's perimeter. He did so not only to quell the raging blaze in his own gut, but also because he had sensed her discomfort and moved away from her, doing what he was programmed to do without a thought. Despite the fact that he had once disgusted her, he put aside his own problems and thought only of her well-being.

And even more distressing – there was that tiny twinge again.

It had happened to him a few times, recently. It occurred mostly when Ashe spoke to him with what little warmth she had. He immediately doused _that_ particular spark when it caught fire in his belly...but, once or twice, it became a conflagration that was harder to snuff out. The most uncomfortable thing was that Ashe herself fought tooth and nail with this odd feeling of closeness. Basch had seen it with his own eyes, but that was neither here nor there…and he was too old for her, really, so why make an issue out of it?

But the true blaze tonight had nothing to do with that, and could not be extinguished. It was begun by slowly fading memories and his true desire…one that could never be touched again.

He stood opposite her once more, the slowly dying bonfire separating them. He took a deep breath, and steadied himself. This was an old, old hurt. He shouldn't carry on, so, but still…it caught him unaware at times. When he took another deep breath he felt more or less like himself again.

He spoke to the rocky ground between his feet. "Lynn was blameless, in regards to her own death, but that meant little to me. I needed someone to blame. I hated her for leaving me. I hated her for making me feel like I had gone mad…and for a time, I suppose I was."

Ashe cocked her head slightly. "When was that?"

He shuffled his feet, obviously embarrassed. "When I was imprisoned. When I was in that filthy, stinking cage…" He grimaced sourly before sallying forth. "I _was_ mad. I was left alone with my thoughts, and it seemed that she was there, mocking me – berating me. Just like Noah…" He sighed, and corrected himself. "Like _Gabranth_ berated me for what happened during the invasion." He met her gaze once more, and once again smiled thinly. "And the worst of _that_ was, that…_madness_…kept me alive for two long, long years."

Ashe did not speak. She _couldn't_ speak. As if she had, Basch nodded slowly. "And now I am free. There is no need for the insanity anymore. Without the hate that drove me to survive, grief took over and nearly overwhelmed me. For the past few months, missing her was like a fire that burned endlessly in my gut. I was young when she died, and I mistook the anger I felt for grief. I could not have been more wrong. My friends…they have softened the worst of what I am feeling by their presence alone, but still – they cannot truly understand this hurt." He looked at Ashe levelly. "Save for you, Lady Ashe."

He had completed pacing the fire pit, and settled on his bedroll again. He believed he would sleep well tonight. The chains that bound him had slipped from his shoulders, and now he was truly free. Once again the miniature changed hands, and Ashe knelt, admiring Lynn's portrait. She thought of Rasler, and wondered for the first time since his death whether she was still mourning him or if she hated him as well…hated him for the same reason Basch hated his lovely Lynn.

She sighed, a sound much like November wind through dead grass. "Can you let go of your hatred of Lynn? _Will_ you?"

"I struggle with it every day, but it is a hardship I will overcome." He nodded to the miniature. "Will you keep that safe for me?"

Without any hesitation, she nodded, then just as surely, reached across his bedroll and took his hand. "Thank you."

He shook his head minutely, nonplussed. "For what?"

With a small quaver in her voice, she said, "I came to you tonight for your guidance. Even though you needed my counsel and company more than I needed yours, I think I received your wisdom, anyway."

Basch nodded once, and squeezed her hand before releasing her. "Perhaps." He cocked his head at Ashe and once again nodded to himself. "I think I can finally forgive, now."

Without raising her countenance to his, she spoke. "Is it Lynn you can forgive? Or is it yourself?"

He wound himself in his blankets. "Both, I believe. I realized, when I met everyone here, that life is far too short to hold on to old grievances. I have no room for it anymore. Now, I have something else to live for."

She smiled, teasingly. "The rebellion?"

Basch shook his head, returning the warmth unconsciously. "The friendships I have forged during the many months of our voyage. The people I have touched, and those that have touched my life. They taught me that life goes on despite the pain of loss."

Ashe stood, heedless to the cloak still wrapped around her shoulders. She drew it close around her and made her way to her bedroll. She lay down, and wrapped herself in the warmth of Basch's cloak. Ashe lay her head on her rucksack and smiled across the fire at her friend. "Good night, Captain."

He opened his eyes, bereft now of pain and very blue in the dying embers of the bonfire. Basch mirrored Ashe once again. "Good night, my Queen."

**Author's Note:**

> So this was another story I wrote about a decade ago. I have a whole bunch of these ancient fics - something like three dozen of them - and at most there are maybe four or five that aren't completely cringe-worthy. This is one of the fics I'd like to share. 
> 
> Laters!


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